


mama's boy

by feychella



Series: pure entropy [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Fire, Flashbacks, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feychella/pseuds/feychella
Summary: Fitzroy's reunion with his mother doesn't go as planned.
Series: pure entropy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848211
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	mama's boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IntrovertedHappiness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedHappiness/gifts).



> shoutout to Vic for somehow predicting this in a dream even though I hadn't told him about this fic. you're uncanny.
> 
> your comments are appreciated. :)

He stands before the little house in the Vale, tucked under the peaceful hills. The round door stretches tall above him, even though he’s grown substantially. _It was the chaotic magic, perhaps._ Fitzroy hasn’t been _home_ since leaving for Hieronymous Wiggenstaff's School for Heroism and Villainy at the behest of his mysterious benefactor. But his friends left for the summer to return to their families, or go home with other friends, and Fitzroy was alone. And while he hated being alone, he also hated when people looked at him with _pity_ in their eyes. It made him feel weak. He is not weak. Not anymore.

The anger at Argo and the Firbolg fizzles out in his chest as he reaches for the doorknob. _They abandoned you,_ Chaos whispers. Shaking his head, he knocks instead. Fitzroy hears his mother bustling around inside, calling his name hopefully. He stands taller. Years ago, he’d stood here after being kicked out of Clyde Nite's. He was weaker then. But he’d grown so much since then, and his mother would surely be proud of him. _She is always proud of me._ He shakes the thought out of his head. What was wrong with him? Didn’t he know by now that he’d always have to prove himself? 

“Fitz...oh, Fitzroy!” His mother flings herself at him, crushing him in a tight hug before leaning back and studying his face. His arms are around her waist - he’s taller than her, now, finally - and she squishes his cheeks, patting him on the head affectionately. “Welcome home _._ " She smells like home, her accent familiar. It was good to be back.

“Hey, ma.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Depends on what dinner is.” 

“Fitzroy Maplecourt, do _not_ give me that attitude. I made your favorite.” She takes his hand and drags him inside. “Can you help me make some cookies?” 

His heart leaps. Maybe he should come home more often. _No...show her how powerful you are now...she’ll love you if you’re powerful,_ Chaos hisses. _You could protect her forever._ Fitz looks up at his mother, humming to herself as she stirs the chocolate chips into her famous cookie batter. Peanut butter chocolate chip was his favorite - of course she would remember that. He never had to prove anything to her. She loved him because he was hers.

He pushes Chaos out of his mind and folds the napkins, tossing them onto the table before popping a piece of cornbread in his mouth. Dendra turns and slaps his hand away before whipping fresh macaroni and cheese out of the small oven. He stares out the window over the chicory-dotted hills and thinks about his childhood friends. Where were they now? A small bouquet of buttercups (his favorite) sits in water on the side of the counter and he tucks one behind his ear before getting on his knees and offering his mother one. She braids it into her deep brown hair and smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. She's getting older, Fitz realizes with a start. He'd never really thought about it before.

“My boy, always so chivalrous.” She musses his curls and steers him towards the table, serving him dinner and putting the fork in his hand. “How’s school, darlin’?”

“Uh...it’s fine.”

“Just fine? I’ve never known you to be short on words, so what’s goin’ on? How’s the, uh, magic stuff?” She chews and swallows before setting her spoon down to give him a stern look. He laughs at her and her face softens. The wood table shakes as he shifts in his seat.

“Magic…” _Tell her._ “I’m learning to control it better. Um, my roommates are really nice, though.”

“I’ll have to meet them sometime! Let me go draw a bath for you and then you can relax after dinner. We should go see the Potters too, they’ve been asking about you...” She clears the table quickly and he starts washing the dishes.

Fitz looks around the small kitchen, the wooden floor and beautifully carved shelves from his childhood inviting him to sit down and get lost in their nostalgia. _Let wood be wood._ Was that Chaos or himself talking? He tries to ignore the growing discontent in his stomach. 

Making his way towards his childhood room, he pads slowly through the hallways (really, just one hallway that wraps around the house) and looks at the pictures on the walls. He was on the wall over here, after attending the rudimentary cotillion at his local school. He’s surrounded by old friends, names already forgotten, except they’re scrawled at the bottom of the frame. How could he forget them? And this one, taken when his father was actually home and in a good mood, of their little family. His mother, young and gentle as always and his father, stern and handsome. His fingers brush over his own face, the younger Fitzroy staring at him. That kid would never know how much pain he would have to experience. What he would do to protect himself.

\-------

His failures were still there, in his childhood room. The Clyde Nite’s posters were torn to shreds on the ground. His mother hadn’t returned since the last time he was home. Maybe it was too painful for her, to remember him collapsed on the floor, sobbing his heart out. Fitz can hear her in his bathroom, singing a song from her youth as she pours a bubble bath potion into the water. He kicks the ruins of the poster under the bed and crosses to his window. Outside, hummingbirds flit from flower to flower, sucking nectar and zooming around the backyard. When he was a kid, he would’ve given anything to be as free as those hummingbirds. He shuts the window with a _bang,_ and runs his fingers along the wood grain on the sill in front of him. He takes the buttercup out of his hair and sets it by the window, fingering the leaves and thinking.

His mother hugs his waist and he pats her hands distractedly as she leaves him, closing the door behind her. The little frog statue on his windowsill, hand-carved by someone in a far-away town, a gift from his father. Fitzroy couldn’t remember any other gifts his dad had given him. Jerry was never home for Candlenights. White magic crackles around his knuckles as he thinks about his father, body sparking. The frog statue crashes to the ground and splits in half. He’s on his knees now, trying to piece it back together. _Destructive._ A gentle wind cuts across the room from the ceiling fan, blowing pieces of Clyde Nite towards him. Fitzroy tries to convince himself he isn’t mad but he _broke_ the only thing his father gave him, just like he _broke_ everything else. He stares at the shards of the frog on his floor and dissolves into tears before he reaches the bathroom.

He feels weak as he slips into the bubble bath, letting the scent of coriander and lavender overwhelm him. Fitzroy sinks under the water, silencing the outside world. Closing his eyes, he could almost hear the whispers of his friends. Would they still be his friends if they knew how much of a failure he was? A fire lights in his chest. _Start over._ He couldn’t control his magic, or his emotions, or-or _anything. That_ was weakness. Attending school, he should've learned to be stronger. Fitzroy had learned a long time ago that love was conditional, even from people that swore to love you until the end.

He learned that lesson in this house - his _home_ \- on nights where his father’s yelling was louder than the owls outside his room. On the nights where he would slip out of his window and sit in the grassy fields, hugging his knees to stop the tears. The nights where he’d come home late, to avoid hearing his parents fight, find his dad stumbling out the door towards the caravan and his mother with her fists clenched, ready to hit something. That’s where he got his fire from. He pushes the thought of his father far from his mind. _He’s not worth it._ The early Friday evenings, when his dad was out of town, and his mother would set him on her lap and they'd sit in the field, looking up at the fireworks together. Even when he got older and could sit next to her, he always settled in her lap and she would hold him tight, like he was the only thing that mattered to her. He would look up wide-eyed and remember why he didn't run away, why he loved his mother so much, why he should stay alive to give love, and keep giving...

Memories from Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School flood into his mind - he failed again, and again, and again...how could anyone want him after that? His body tenses up again. _You’re a fake. You’ve tricked everyone into thinking you’re some fancy nobleman. Give it up. They’re not going to love you the way you think._ Chaos or himself, Chaos or himself, Chaos or himself. _Who am I?_ A dull pain settles behind his eyes as he stares up through the water and tries to breathe normally again. Strength flows back into him, Chaos granting. The tears are replaced with sharp pain, then anger. Anger at his father, at his mother for not understanding him, at his friends for abandoning him. Anger at not being able to protect his mother, anger at Chaos for not letting him control his own thoughts. _Burn it all down._ And he does.

\-------

He gasps for air as his lungs fill with smoke. Sitting bolt upright, the water ripples away from him and he coughs, once, twice, before one thought settles into the front of his mind. _Ma._ Fitzroy scrambles for his pajamas, fingers slipping and fumbling with the buttons. The henna on his hands glows bright white and he throws a towel over his wet hair before abandoning it altogether. _I have to save my mother._ He races into the hallway, dodging the fire and coughing as the curtains burn up beside him. His mother lies on the floor, unresponsive, and he gathers her in his arms. _Leave her. Make a fresh start._ Fitzroy takes a few unsteady steps forward, lightheaded, and the wooden floorboards start burning around his feet. _No, you can't leave her here._ He forces himself to continue, chest screaming with the effort. Each step towards the door is agony, and his eyes burn with ash as he struggles out the door. He collapses onto the rock path outside of his house.

His mother’s dark hair is singed at the edges and he uses his shirt to wipe the soot off of her face, drawing in shallow breaths as he looks at his childhood home, burning into the calm night sky. She coughs herself awake and focuses on their home, ablaze. Dendra throws her arms around Fitzroy’s neck and takes a deep breath, holding him close to her. _She’s still protecting me._

“My brave boy…” Tears cloud his vision and he buries his face in his mother’s shoulder. She smells like sandalwood and burnt cedar. “Fitz, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he chokes out as he breaks the hug. His neighbors stream out of their houses under the hills, the entire Vale staring at the two of them in front of his house. “I did this, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” Fitzroy gets to his feet, helping his mother up. “I need to- ma, I need to go.” Dendra knots her fists into his shirt and he shrugs it off of his shoulders, leaving it behind in her hands.

“Fitzroy!"

 _Where will I go?_ He makes it as far as the wildflower fields on the edge of town before turning around. His house, silhouetted against the bright silvery half-moon, stops burning after a few hours. The local wizards must have brought water, teamed up with the villagers. Community. That’s what he’s always needed. So why was he so afraid? He sits on the hills and watches his community help his mother rebuild her home, at least so it's clean enough to live in. Fitz waits until the night fades to an oppressive back before returning home.

In the depths of the night, he stumbles back towards the door, just like when he was a kid. His mother opens it before he gets the chance to knock, broom in hand, and he stumbles into her arms, cries already whimpering out of him. The smoke has cleared and Fitzroy realizes with a jolt that she knew he would come back. Somehow she _knew_ he would return. That’s her Fitzroy, after all. Dependable, a little off sometimes but beautifully compassionate. Chaos is dead silent, for once, as she sits over him and holds his hand. He wants to be what she sees in him. Fitzroy _wants_ to be soft, loving, empathetic. _I'd like that,_ he thinks. He doesn’t get to choose who he becomes, does he?

He falls into a deep sleep, surrounded by the lingering scent of singed sandalwood and safety, mind quiet at last.


End file.
